Four Days Later
by diva.gonzo
Summary: 7 May 1998. The day that Ron Weasley wasn't looking forward to: Brother Fred's funeral. How can he cope with a overflowing teaspoon and other issues on one of the worst days of his life? Can a bushy haired know it all girlfriend help him? Appearances by Molly, Ginny, and Fleur. (Rated M for Nightmares, Language, Lemons and flashbacks)
1. Bushy Haired Know it all

**Four Days Later**

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_******For disclaimer: Sure I share a name with JK Rowling, but I am certainly not her, don't have her bank account, nor her poise in public speaking. Anything I write in her world is for fun, practice, and to get my own story telling skills back up to personal par. Plot lines might be mine, but the characters are hers for a really long time.**_

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Ch. 1 Bushy Haired Know-it-alls

Ron sat on his bed, in his sleep trousers, looking out the window. He had another sleepless night, comforting Hermione and her nightmares. Another exhausting night hearing her crying and needing his company and comfort to sleep more than a few minutes before the screams started again. If anyone was haunted by the war, it was her. Ginny was smart, and found somewhere else to sleep. Harry also. Who knows where they were crashing every night.

Today was going to be brutal. Today was Fred's funeral. Ron wanted to run, avoid what was going to possibly happen. Duty and Obligation weren't enough to keep him here, in his room at 5am. Guilt held him fast like bars of iron. He was needed, for the first time in his life. Hermione needed him. His mum needed him. His sister needed him. His prat of a brother needed him. His broken brother needed him. Guilt and need held him more than anything else.

He stood up, and went to the window. It was still dusty in the crevices, and probably needed a washing and a coat of paint. He didn't care. The first vestiges of sunlight tickled the top of the trees out his window. The view out the window was what he wanted, and loathed.

The orchard on the edge of the property, protected by wards courtesy of Bill, Charlie, and Harry, would be Fred's final resting place. The family didn't need a spectacle of a funeral for Fred, unless it was courtesy of George. The protections on the property today would shield the family from the vultures known as the press. The massive Oak tree on the edge of the orchard would be a living Memorial for Fred. Like the tree, Fred was larger than life. Unlike Fred, the tree was still alive.

He stood there, his thoughts jumbled and contorted. He should have been miserable. He should have been upset. Instead, he thought of the bushy haired know it all who was now his girlfriend.

He needed her by his side, but his mother wouldn't hear of it. She said that unless you were married, sleeping together was scandalous. It didn't matter to Molly Weasley that the three of them slept in close quarters for months, hiding, running, and hunting. It was her home, her rules, and their choice to stay there. Two nights, and he was ready to sleep in the tent again. It didn't matter if Hermione was in his bed or not. He needed her close. He couldn't sleep without her soft snores, the occasional grunt from her, or even the restlessness of her tossing and turning. He told her that he would sleep on the floor, just to have them both close. Mum wouldn't hear of it for any reason. Her shrill castigation still rattled in his ears. So instead of by his side, she was in Ginny's room sleeping.

The door banged open, and there Mum stood looking haggard. "It's Hermione. I can't get her awake," was Molly said before racing back out the door. He had been expecting that, even this early in the morning. He was there consoling her two and three times a night.

His long strides easily caught up with her, running first into Ginny's room. Sure enough, Hermione was thrashing on the bed, wailing silently while wrestling in the sweat drenched sheets of the cramped camp bed. Molly was there, silently sobbing because she couldn't make the pain abate. Only Ron could chase away the nightmares.

"Hermione. I'm here. Please wake!"

Melted chocolate eyes opened, bloodshot and red rimmed. She froze, still gripped by the nightmare that just left. The haunting behind her eyes spoke volumes for Ron. Five weeks later, and he was still fighting the guilt of that night. This is why he needed to be by her side.

Emaciated arms slowly reached up to give him a place to hug. Not a second passed before the sobs started to soak his shirt. No words could convey the grief that gripped him. Her jumper slowly soaked up his tears.

He awoke to finding his girlfriend nestled in his arms on her cramped camp bed. His feet lay off the bed, giving her as much room as she needed. His shirt was still damp along with being twisted in her lightly ink stained fingers. She hadn't moved in the time she fell asleep in his arms. It was the only time she was peaceful in sleep. She is right, thought Ron. I do chase away the nightmares. She keeps mine away also.

He looked up from the tangled matting of brown hair to his father standing in the doorway. Ron shifted, but his dad's motion kept him still.

Arthur looked exhausted. His blue eyes were dull, enclosed in bruises under his eyes. He was dead on his feet in more ways than just one. Today was the only day he was going to be away from the Ministry and the rebuilding efforts. Every other day this week, he's been in before sunrise and home considerably later than dinner. He was unfortunately one of the few people that Shacklebolt trusted completely. Rebuilding was harder work than maintaining a status quo.

He slipped into the room, kneeling down to his youngest son's ear.

"Let her sleep. The funeral isn't until eleven. It's only half seven, so you have time. I'll bring you some bacon sandwiches in a minute."

Ron looked up, seeing his father fighting his own tears. 'Thanks' he mouthed and Arthur left the room.

He settled back into the creaky springs of the mattress, letting Hermione continue to sleep. Her hair was a mess, impulsively shorn off after the world changed. When she went into the lavatory for a shower after things settled down, she had a head full of singed, tangled irreparably bushy brown hair. When she came out a short time later, she was clean, dressed in clean yet grubby clothes, and sporting considerably shorter hair. "What happened to your hair?" Ron had asked.

"It was falling off in clumps, so I took a knife to it."

"Oh."

At first, he was disappointed. He loved her longer hair, even if she complained about it incessantly. He wanted many a time to run his fingers through it, feeling the plush feeling on his calloused fingers. The first time he touched her hair was when she was petrified their second year. That was also the first night that his best friend was in his thoughts in less than a best friend way. Confusion reigned for almost two years before he understood, if not completely. Now, years after the fact, her hair was one of his fantasies.

She snorted, and he tore himself out of his reverie. Those black walnut eyes were looking up at him from where she was curled into the crevice of his neck. "Hi." She couldn't do more than whisper. The pain on her face was evident, from the bruises around her eyes, the angry red line across her neck that peeked out from her sleep and sweat matted hair, the bloodshot eyes, and the frown lines creasing her eyes and succulent mouth.

He pulled her up onto his lanky chest, feeling the harsh lines under her shirt and jumper. His kiss was far from chaste, pouring everything he could from the last two days into it. He fought the fatigue, but his love for her was paramount. He was already stirring from slumber.

She broke the kiss, grinning like a girl with her first crush. Another kiss by her on his nose brought him to giggles as well.

"Morning. A girl could get used to this, waking up in her boyfriend's arms."

"Don't get too comfortable. Mum was in here a while ago checking on you, and so was Dad. I don't think they are happy with this arrangement."

She frowned, remembering back a couple of hours past to the nightmare that wouldn't let her go. "I woke the house again, didn't I?" She looked away from him.

He caressed her chin, making her look back up at him. "You did. Mum couldn't wake you no matter how she tried. She ran to get me and brought me down here. It took a little while, but you eventually fell back asleep."

"Did you sleep?"

"A little. Maybe an hour or two."

She looked away. "I'm sorry I keep waking you up."

He pulled her head back towards him, looking at her. "Don't be. You need me. I love you. Where else would I be?"

He watched as her lip quivered, and her eyes leaked yet again. "Tell me again, please!" she quietly begged.

"I love you, Hermione. You're it. No one else for me."

She leaned forward on his chest again. He felt the warm breath on his face along with the tickling of his subtle stubble on his upper lip. Their lips touched, heat with a promise of passion as the tip of her tongue tentatively caressed his lower lip.

"Uh huh," came a grunt from the hallway.

Ron panicked, and flung Hermione onto the bed while he fell onto the floor. His wand was in his hand in an instant, looking for the noise. He found brown eyes looking down at him, a hint of a smile across her lips. "Breakfast is ready. Come eat."

Long ginger tresses swung in the doorway before disappearing. 'Damn.' He thought.

He looked back up at the bed, finding Hermione cowering under the covers shuddering in fright.

"Shhhh. It's ok. I'm sorry. She just scared me."

The top of the covers motioned.

"Come on out. Let's go get some breakfast. I dunno about you, but I'm starving."

A soft chuckle emanated from under the covers. "You go. I'm going to get a shower."

"Save you some breakfast?"

"Sure. That'll be fine."

Ron pulled the duvet from over her head, hunting those warm chocolate eyes he loved. A kiss upon her lips, promising more eventually, was all he left her with. She watched him turn on his heels, then leave the room. 'That man is going to be the death of me.'

She cowered a little longer. Her wand hand shook holding the walnut dragon. Going from kissing him to banging her head on the wall when he threw her wasn't what she had in mind.

She sat up in the bed, letting the covers fall away from her body. She had every intention of a shower, but not breakfast. Food was the last thing she wanted.


	2. Dirge through the Day

Ch. 2 Dirge through the Day

Hermione stood behind, holding Harry's clammy hand. Family yet not, they both agreed. The Weasley's needed time among themselves, without their interference. They could share their grief with one another, siblings in everything but blood. So they stood back, and watched through their own grief.

The men hoisted Fred onto their shoulders, carrying him from the back garden out to the Orchard. Kingsley was there, along with a few others. The only one not of his blood was Lee, his best friend.

Arthur followed the procession, holding Molly on one side and Ginny on the other. Behind them was Fleur and Percy's newlywed wife Audrey, with Angelina in the middle. The two other women were fighting to keep Angelina upright. She was distraught since she was Fred's other best friend, but George's girlfriend.

Harry and Hermione took seats on the third row. They were close enough to the family but respectful to give their distance. Hermione saw that Harry was glancing at her. She didn't mind her brother's concern. She was concerned herself, not having slept the last two nights without Ron at her side. Molly insisted that women who were not married didn't sleep in the same bed with a man. It was heresy for anything else. Try as she may, Hermione couldn't convince Molly that she couldn't sleep a wink unless she heard Ron's snoring and Harry's nocturnal grumbling. It didn't matter that Hermione begged her to sleep on the floor, like they had done for the past nine months.

The shower she took this morning during breakfast reminded her of how pathetic she felt and looked. She knew she looked atrocious. Her hair was pitiful at best. She took a knife to it later that Monday morning after feeling the singed ends, the spell damage, the smoke and soot and blood caked into it. In her exhaustion, and a way to cope, she cut the matted and encrusted plait off, leaving some so she could pass for presentable. Her face was emaciated, along with the rest of her. The scars on her neck, chest, arm and back were hidden, concealing glamours for the rest of the family. Only Ron and Harry, along with Bill and Fleur knew of them. They wouldn't tell unless she said so.

The black dress she borrowed from Ginny hung like sack cloth off of her boney frame. She didn't realize until her first bath at Shell Cottage how much weight she had lost. The meals that Fleur tried to coax her to eat did nothing for her appetite. Her eating was mechanical now, out of necessity to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep surviving. The stress made anything she put in her mouth taste like mud and ashes. It was force of will that she could choke down a piece of toast.

She stole a glance back at Harry. He was off in his own world at the moment, letting the words slide off of him with no recognition. For once, Hermione didn't pay attention either. All that she was focused on was a six foot two ginger up on the front row, on the end, watching him hold George up while his shoulders shook in grief. She wanted to sit next to him, giving him what little strength she had, what comfort she could afford for him.

Intellectually, she knew his family needed him. Emotionally, she needed him. She was annoyed at herself for her irrational need to keep him for herself. 'Quit it. Just stop. His family needs him,' she berated herself. 'So does yours,' said the quiet voice she trusted most.

The thought of her parents, safely ensconced in Australia, was enough to break the floodgates open. Within seconds, she was sobbing on Harry's shoulder. She hadn't noticed how much she needed her Mum, needed her father's wisdom and intellectual insights. As much as she loved her adopted family, only her father, and maybe Luna, could stand toe to toe in an academic discussion.

His arms surrounded her, letting her cry bittersweet tears. 'We won,' permeated her thinking. Regardless of outcome, the price paid in blood was steep. Fred. Remus and Tonks. Colin. Snape. Dumbledore. Lavender.

The last name on that list was the worst. The silly bint that was more interested in clothes, makeup, boys, stood up as a pureblood and fought when many ran. That brainless girl could have stood aside, let others fight, and yet she stayed and fought the pogrom at the school.

Hermione remembered back, one of the few images that were cemented in her mind. The blood dripping off of Greyback's chin, the palor of Lavender's face, and the gore oozing from the wound on her neck. The relief Hermione felt blasting him off of Lavender was short lived. They were still fighting, trying to win. She had no time to stop and help further than what she did. That was the brutal cost of battling in such close quarters.

The painful memory of standing in the Hospital Ward, looking at the blood soaked bed in the corner where Lavender lay. Someone had tried to rescue her, take her to shelter and safety and save her life. Their efforts were in vain. Hermione knew that after the fact. Ron took it as well as expected, growling in affirmation when Hermione told him what happened. "Serves the bastard right that we killed him," was all he said. Hermione never asked what he meant by that.

She never told Ron the salacious taunts he whispered in her ear while Bellatrix was degrading her. The pain from her cuts hurt less than the cruelty he impressed upon her. His foul stench and revolting breath on her face while he held her arms was enough to make her retch. Just the thought of the monster was enough to make her shudder in memory. She would never admit it, but blasting him with a curse away from Lavender was the first step in her healing. Ron helping dispose of the monster gave her considerable relief. She took grim satisfaction in that he would never harm another soul.

The congregants stood up watching the Minister perform his last duties on behalf of Fred. Hermione didn't care to watch. The thought was too painful just a few days after what happened. Instead, she focused back on Ron, who was standing on the end. She saw the raw unbridled magic rolling off of him in waves. His hair was a mess, and the flowers surrounding the dais were floating around Kingsley like a lily strewn halo.

Bill looked over from the first seat and saw his youngest brother barely controlling his emotions. The tears down his face betrayed him. He knew that Ron was the one unable to control his magic. The vase holding the bouquet of white roses melted, spraying the front row with petals. Ron stood up, and with his long lanky legs, strode away from the service.

Hermione looked at Harry, and saw his answer. She left her seat to chase after him.

He left. He had to. He strode away trying not to cock up the day for everyone else. He was about to ruin the funeral that Fred never wanted. He wanted laughter; he wanted fireworks and celebration. This was a dirge that he would scoff. But this wasn't for Fred. This was for his mother, and father, and the rest who needed it. Damn them for being traditional when Fred wasn't.

He wasn't going to walk away from them all. Just to walk, clear his head, get his heart and mind back under control. He could walk to that traitor's property up the lane, or down to the pub in Ottery St. Catchpole. He just needed away until the boiling cauldron inside him settled down. It didn't matter today if his mother berated him, or his brothers ridiculed him. It was either walk away or spoil everything. He'd ruined enough these past couple of months as it is.

He stopped at the front gate, the one that sidled up to the lane. He slumped on it. No one needed to see him crying. No one needed to know he was weak. No one needed to know that he was a wreck. The conflicts inside his head and heart tore him. His brother was dead, forever a laugh on his face. His love was alive and needed him strong. Laughter coexisted with his grief. He wanted to destroy those who hurt his family, who made his mother cry and kill. He needed Fred. He needed Hermione. He loved Hermione. He missed Fred.

Strength flowed into him when the delicate arms threaded their way around his waist. A powerful hug gave him the determination to continue breathing. "Love," was all he heard from her. That one word, from the brave brilliant beautiful woman behind him, opened him completely, and he let go.

Everything from the past nine months poured out. She was the only one he trusted to know this was his weakness. Everything that happened the last nine months – hunger; anger; fear; stress; love; rage – ran out through his tears coursing down his face. The volatility he always felt threatened to consume him once and for all.

The warm embrace he felt moved to his front. She was giving him her shoulder to lean on in his time of woe. Sadness didn't even begin to articulate what he was feeling. Hunger didn't describe what he needed. Fury couldn't contain what he felt. Words were shallow for what he was coping with.

He snaked his arms around her. A mad impulse gripped him. He had to act before he could be consumed. He spun them and they landed in the parlor of his home.

"Where?" she quietly asked.

"Come," was all he could articulate.

He grabbed her hand, dragging her up the stairs inside the Burrow.

Ron felt her let go, but deep down, he knew she would follow him. He always knew that she would be there for him, if he wasn't always there for her. The madness that coursed through his veins told him that tidbit of truth. He hoped that she would be the only witness to the rage that demanded release.

'Not with fire. Too hard to control. Bet you Hermione could control Fiendfyre. She's strong of mind and spirit and discipline.'

He made it to the shelter of his room, and began the destruction that the dragon inside his chest demanded. The chair went first, tearing under his strong hands. The mirror shattered when the chair hit it. Next flew the chair at the window. It bounced off of the frame, landing feebly on Harry's bed. Ron took two steps and launched it again. It froze in mid-flight, inches from the window.

He looked over his shoulder at Hermione standing in the doorway with her wand at the ready. She didn't need to articulate. The dragon wasn't satiated. Maybe a sacrifice would be sufficient.

He stalked to her. She was strong, controlling her fear. Was it fear of him or fear of his anger, he couldn't tell. Was it even fear, but something else? Her black walnut eyes showed bright.

He picked her up, and with a kick of the foot, slammed the door while thrusting her roughly against the wall of his room. Before she could yell at him, he claimed her lips. This was what he needed. Only she could make him whole. The taunt in his head quietly agreed.

He knew the magic was rolling off of him, shaking the house. Nothing mattered except the solace Hermione offered him. He might regret what he was doing later, but for this moment, he would take what she willingly offered. He needed her, wanted her.

Ron felt her hands threading through his hair, pulling him even harder onto her boney frame. She opened her arms further, settling his claim of her once and for all. Under her robes, her breasts were the only cushion he felt. The bones of her prominent hips cradled his narrow ones. He tasted her, marking her neck, shocked she would relinquish control.

"Mine," he growled.

"Yours," she growled back, biting his neck. "Take me!" he heard through her feral whisper.

"No!" He tried to pull back from her neck. "Hermione – "

She pulled him that much harder, practically butting heads with him. Her eyes were burning in intensity. "Take me, damn it!"

"You – "

"Only you. Always you."

That was all he needed to hear.

He tore her robes off and flung them behind him. She kicked out of her modest dress shoes, shrinking another two inches. He raked his eyes down her thin frame, taking in her modest white cotton bra and dainty blue knickers. He chuckled at the practicality rather than the matching ones that Lavender always insisted upon.

His face flushed from the memory of seeing Lavender out of her school robes the only time. Her royal blue kit was pretty. It was also when he realized that she wasn't what he truly wanted. He wanted the bushy hair, the smaller breasts, and the swotty mouth who could spout knowledge he never would need. Many a morning in the shower or at night behind the curtains, he imagined Hermione's mouth on him, driving him spare with lust.

A wave of shame rolled over his face. He hoped she didn't realize it. He didn't want to admit that he had tasted breasts of another, made her come by his hands. He didn't want to admit that she did the same for him. He wanted the dream girl in front of him. Ron wanted to do to her what he already had accomplished once before: this time, just for Hermione.

"Ron, what?"

He moved the straps of white cotton off of her shoulders. The bones on her clavicle stood out, the curves of her shoulders, the tendons in her neck. Looking down through his calloused hands, her pert nipples stood out through the white cotton. His control broke, and he latched his lips onto her pulse point again, moving his hands down her body to remove the bra. He twisted the fragile fabric in his fingers, tearing it from her torso. He flung it over his shoulder. Under his palms were those breasts he had been fantasizing about for the past five years. He couldn't resist, wanting to sense them in every way. 'More,' screamed the selfish monster inside his head.

Ron fell to his knees. He was drowning in her embrace. But what was in front of his face was worth drowning for. Those breasts, perky and erect, demanded his attention and ministrations. The light brown of the nipples begged for him, but he wanted to see her eyes before he started.

He looked up, through the valley of her breasts, and saw her hands thread back into his ginger locks. "Oh G_d please!" she begged.


	3. Lock me away and hide me from the world

Ch. 3 Lock me away and hide me from the world

Hermione looked down at those beautiful blue eyes. They were red rimmed, boiling like a badly made potion. She knew his cup was overflowing. "Oh G_d please! Anything! I'm yours!"

Energy and passion flowed over her. The soft lips on her left breast flipped her switch. The large calloused fingers rolled the hardened nipple through his fingers on her right one. If she wasn't holding onto his head for dear life, her knees would have buckled. He was the only thing that was holding her up and on the wall.

For once, Hermione needed impulse. Damn logic and reason. They had so much grief to cope with. She wanted to throw it out the window and just feel. She felt rather than knew that his hand had moved. She felt the electricity snake across her hips, from her stomach to her bum. The thin cotton of her knickers would be no obstacle when he wanted her. She wanted to feel the soft ginger hair through her fingers. She wanted to feel his lips on her body, wherever he wanted to put them. She needed to be reminded they won and were alive to celebrate. She needed to feel him making love to her. She needed him completely.

His other hand left her breast. His mouth was feasting on the other one, while his hand caressed her other cheek. The dampness from his mouth on her left breast tingled, further exciting her. It matched her knickers. Her nocturnal fantasies were child's play compared to the reality unfolding before her.

Clumsy fingertips yanked down her knickers, thrown callously across the room over his shoulder. Any other man and she could have slapped them across the face for presumption. Her soon to be lover, the one whom belched slugs for her years ago, was worth everything that was going to happen. She would never regret anything that happened with her ginger knight. She knew this might happen when she followed him up in the stories of his home. The only question in her mind was when, not if.

Strong arms embraced her, lifting her from where she was standing. He carried her across the room to his bed, laying her gently on the Cannon's duvet. "Hermione," he growled.

"I'm yours."

"Don't we –"

"Sorted."

"Oh."

He latched his lips on her neck again, feeling the skin pebble under his lips. "Want you so fucking much," he muttered on the skin. He sucked again, finding the crevice between her neck and shoulder.

She whispered back. "Then fuck me."

He sucked harder and pulled her hips up into his groin. She shifted her hips, feeling the heat from his tented trousers. His hips thrust without control, throbbing in time with her beating heart.

Her coarse words embarrassed her, but drove him wild. Seven years of friendship told her how to push his buttons. He took great pains, and greater pleasure to drive her to say those things that were coarse, crude, and impolite. Now wasn't that time, propriety be damned. Small hands slid down his torso, fumbling with the buckle of the belt. Ron growled while looking straight at her. "Hermione?"

"Please," she whispered back in a voice he never heard from her before. "Make love to me."

He shifted again in anticipation. Those delicate ink stained hands excited him. The thought of her touching him that way did more than all of the months of snogging he did on Lavender. Just the thought of Hermione like this – wanton, scandalous, impetuous – challenged his self-control. He wanted her, but on her terms. He was eager, not unlike a sixteen year old walking cock that tarnished Lavender.

She finished with the zipper on his trousers, pushing them along with his pants below his starvation enforced bum. Five weeks of meals did little to put any weight back on his hips or anywhere else. Her hands caressed in the unbeknownst ginger hairs on the tops of his hips. That was a nice surprise to find. The softness of them contrasted with the sinew and bone of his pelvis. Right now, she didn't otherwise care. She didn't want to spend time learning him, or determining what she needed. This was for him. She could give him what he needed. He could reciprocate later. They had time now: days, months, years.

She pushed her hands into those boney hips, pressing him at the edge of her body. Brown eyes found blue. Earth and Water meeting at a shore, ready to flow over one another, ready to meld into one. "I love you," he whispered on her lips.

"I love you so much," she kissed him back.

"OhFuckHermione" was all she heard. She wanted to laugh, realizing that being tortured six weeks prior made today bearable. It hurt, but less than she expected. He was worth the discomfort. She was now home, and complete. Those wondrous blue eyes never left hers, except to close in overload.

A hip shift and he was pounding her into the mattress. He was so large, yet she took him all. Karma, fate destiny: none of it mattered to her. All that mattered was him, her ginger knight marking her as his own.

"OhfuckHermione" was all he could grunt before shuddering to a finish. The look on his face would fuel her patronus for years to come. It didn't matter that he was already finished. 'I hope it lasts longer next time,' she thought wistfully. She berated herself for being irrational, wanting what pleasure he had. 'This wasn't about you, selfish bint.'

He crashed into the bed on the other side, next to the wall. His breathing was labored and he was drenched in sweat. His long arm draped over her breasts while his leg covered her matted and overheated bits.

Shaking gripped him. She cradled him to her, realizing he still needed her. "Ron?" she asked quietly.

"Oh Merlin, he's dead," was all he could choke out before his sobs cut off his voice.

She pulled him even closer, resting his head on her breasts, feeling coarse hairs tickling her hip. She was hot, sticky, sore, and thankful for it. "Hermione, he's gone" he wailed through his grief.

"I'm here, love, let it go" she cooed in his hair while he continued to cry. Kisses on his crown and his forehead opened the wound further, letting his bittersweet tears flow. He tasted of sunshine, of salt, and something that was just Ron.

She continued to mutter placating words, of which they would never remember tomorrow. He needed her, and she would give him what he needed.

He drifted off quickly after crying himself to sleep. After his first snore, she extricated herself from his clutches, including tidying his appearance. She wanted anyone who stumbled upon them shortly to think that nothing was remiss, nor question her actions. The only problem would probably be Molly, but that would be dealt with when the time was appropriate. For now, what they shared would stay private.

Hermione looked to the wall where the mirror former resided. A wand was needed for a moment. A flick, and a shard grew just large enough to see what she needed. Sure enough, there was blood, last evidence of any innocence she had. A wave of her wand cleaned her up. She hoped there wasn't any on his bed. That possible problem would have to wait until he was awake once again.

She scoured the room for her knickers and bra. Once found, she dressed quickly. She threw a blanket over him while he continued to snore. She stood there an extra moment, relishing how peaceful he looked now. He was duly conflicted, but she hoped that what she gave him settled the turmoil in his heart and soul. It must have been, since he was still sleeping peacefully.

The house shook. 'Blast it. I forgot about sealing the stairwell.' She spied members of the family outside shouting. She quickly thought on how she could protect them once again. 'That'll work.'

She snuggled back under his sleeping form, brandishing her wand to remove the protection from the rest of the house. One last glance, and realized this was as close to good as they were going to get. Instead of undoing everything, she set a lock on the door, along with silencing spells and notice-me-nots. That wouldn't hinder Molly – and that was fine. Just the act would suffice. These spells weren't strong but only for show. She just didn't want anyone to wake Ron now that he was sleeping peacefully.

One more flourish, and she whirled the contents of his room around further, making it appear that he came close to rending the room. 'Brilliant' was all she could muster.

All that was left was waiting. It wouldn't take long.

Minutes later, she felt the magic breech. Another flick of her wand, and there stood Harry and Mr. Weasley. They spied the couple on the bed, fully dressed, along with the disheveled state of his room. A look passed between Harry and Mr. Weasley, and they quietly padded into the room. Harry closed the door behind him, preventing further intrusion. Arthur tiptoed over to kneel down on the age stained wood floor. "What happened? We saw him leave then couldn't get up the stairs. What happened?"

Hermione looked up into Arthur's cerulean eyes. The grief pained him. Her white lie would suffice for now. "Ron was about to annihilate the house with his unrestrained magic. I did what I could to prevent widespread destruction. He needed release, so he tore up the room instead."

"You're bruised," whispered Arthur. He touched the bruise at the base of her neck underneath where the other scar was hidden. It was a good thing she hid the rest. She wasn't ready to tell that story yet.

"I was careless and got in the way of his chair throwing. It's nothing."

He looked at her, and saw the truth of it. She hated lying to him, but Ron still needed protecting.

"Ron finally collapsed on the bed, and cried himself to sleep. He's exhausted and I thought he needed it."

Ron's father nodded. "Well, then, when he wakes, have him come down. Lunch's ready."

"I'll wake him shortly. He should be better now."

Hermione felt the kiss upon her forehead followed by a blush on her cheeks. "Thank you for saving him today," he whispered in her ear. "I couldn't do it."

"You're welcome Mr. Weasley. My pleasure."

Arthur stood up from his knobby knees, strolling back to Harry in the doorway. He passed by with nary a glance. They both knew he had more burdens than they could comprehend this early in their lives.

Harry closed the door behind him again. "The mark on your neck isn't from a chair leg." It wasn't a question. He knew her better than Arthur did.

"No." was her curt reply.

He waited for more explanation, with none coming. "Everything ok?"

"He'll be better this afternoon. His emotional teaspoon cracked and overflowed."

Harry chuckled. "He loves you."

She blushed. "I know. He told me when he was crying."

"Crying?"

"Yea. I'll tell you about it later. We've got time now."

He grinned for the first time in days. "We do, don't we?"

"We do."

Harry walked over to the bed, bending down to look closer at his sister from another mother. "Hermione?"

"Yea Harry?"

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Thank you," he breathed against her cheek.

She grinned back up at him before he turned and made it a step before Hermione interrupted his thought.

"Harry? Tell them I'll be down in a few. I just need to get out from under this troll."

He laughed. "He's not a troll. He's too short and smart to be one. A giant is another story."

He closed the door on her quiet giggle.

She placed a butterfly kiss on his forehead, smelling the wondrous smell of his clean hair. Parchment, fresh mown grass, and Ron's hair: those were the smells of her Amortentia. The night of the 2nd of May, when she snuggled up to him on the couch in the common room and fell asleep in his hair was the day she knew she was home. Home is wherever Ron is. Everything else is amazing.

Hermione slid out from under his prone arm. She didn't want to go, but she needed to. He needed his sleep, and she really needed to visit the Loo. The glance in the mirror told her she needed to clean her face of the smeared makeup and hide the burgeoning bruise on the side of her neck. 'He certainly knows how to use those lips,' she thought wistfully. She was impressed by how well he marked her. If it wouldn't incur the rancor of Molly Weasley, she'd leave it. 'Another day, maybe.'

One last glance over her shoulder back at her ginger knight on his bed told her he was still asleep. Ron's snore punctuated her assertion. She needed to clean up and make herself presentable at the wake. Questions had to be avoided today at all costs. She might even have a bite if she was hungry. If she didn't get it before he came down from his nap, she'd miss out. He never could pass up his mother's cooking.


	4. Freedom in the '90's

Ch. 4 Freedom in the '90's

(A/N: My kudos to one of my favorite singers growing up, George Michael, who wrote  
a wonderful song about becoming the person who you need to be.)

"Then Fuck me" echoed in his mind. That first moment when he knew he came home. Not even coming. That was out-bloody-standing. 'Am I dreaming? Can't be; those tits were amazing.'

Ron shifted, feeling the pillow under his face and smelled her on it. He grinned. He moved his fingers, groping for her again. All he felt were sheets under his fingers. They were cool to the touch, but smelled of her. Vanilla, parchment and ink: she'd smelled that way for years. He opened his eyes and saw the sunlight through the window, but no Hermione at the window. A glance at the door that was closed told him she wasn't here. He rolled over, feeling the afghan curl under his back, and saw that he didn't dream it. 'Bloody buggering fuck!' What he saw proved it wasn't a dream. "Merlin's saggy bollocks!"

He sat up, throwing his legs off of the side of his cramped bed, pulling the afghan over his lap. He felt exposed and needed to hide for a moment, remembering what happened a short while ago. Anger started it all. Frustration laced with grief wove through his memory. He walked away not to ruin the rest of the service. Mum needed it, he thought. Seeing the flowers dance around the Minister's head was enough to make him leave. He couldn't cope. He wanted to hide from today.

Something was wrong with the room. He couldn't pinpoint what. He let today roll through his memory like a photograph.

Strong arms embraced him to give him strength. Compassionate eyes trusted him to be weak. Hot hands followed him into the next moment. Soft lips warmed his heart. Delicate breasts warmed his soul.

Throwing Hermione against the wall broke something inside. Her eyes never blinked while he claimed her for his own. She never wavered from what he desperately needed – absolute love and trust. He was burning, and she followed him into the maelstrom. The cauldron in his mind was boiling again. He threaded his hands behind his head, reflecting on the day.

He rushed to aid Hermione from her nightmare. Hot breakfast that he didn't want yet ate his fill after prodding from Fleur and Dad. A hot shower to wake him up since the tea he had didn't suffice. Carrying the smooth cold wood on his shoulder as his last duty to the brother he couldn't save.

He held George, his broken brother, by the shoulders to keep him upright. No one else needed to know he was stinking drunk. His obligation to George wasn't enough to keep him from losing control in front of everyone.

He put his head in his hands. Humiliation gripped him once again. He hated showing weakness to everyone. He felt the eyes on him when he stood up and left the service two hours ago. He walked away from his brother's funeral. 'It was either that or ruin it. Dad'll understand.'

An hour ago, he was pounding the love of his life into the creaky mattress residing under him. 'Bloody hell! I got to see Hermione's tits!'

Instead of running from him, she confronted his fury the only way she knew how – a loving sacrifice. Once again, she saved him. She was the bravest witch he knew – the only one who could turn his anger. He grinned. 'Bloody good way to turn my anger.'

Fresh tears threatened to consume him once again. Through the blur and the lump in his throat, he remembered the first taste of Hermione: vanilla, salt, and just her. After she begged him, she never said another word. She didn't need to. Her eyes spoke volumes: Passion, trust, lust.

Bellowing her name calmed his soul. Pouring out his grief satiated him.

He looked around the room and realized what was wrong. The chair was repaired, the mirror restored, and her garments were missing. 'The brightest witch of the age, and she can't even stay around for a little while.' For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he laughed. 'I didn't dream that. I made love to Hermione.'

A whiff of something delicious wafted through his room. His stomach grumbled in reply. He smelled lunch: Mum's Roasted Chicken. He looked on his wrist to his watch. It was almost two. He was asleep almost an hour. A restful hour from the calm he felt, even if the cauldron in his mind was rolling.

He quickly dressed, composing his attire as best as possible. He didn't want any awkward questions save the ones that were obvious – like destroying the display for the service, or immolating the house in conflagration. Those he could handle. He couldn't handle any questions about his girlfriend. 'Damn. She'll want to talk about what happened. How'd you explain today was the best and worst day of your life?'

He left, intending to make a stop in the loo to make sure she didn't mark him in the least. Today wasn't the day for having the mickey taken. His teaspoon was already full.

Ron stood in the kitchen looking out onto the back party yard.

Mum was bustling with the food on the table with Ginny in tow. Bill and Fleur were talking with Minerva and Dad, while Charlie was sitting with Percy and George. George was still drunk, a bottle of Ogden's Best in his hands. Ron wouldn't have understood if he wasn't drunk.

He spied her from the window in the kitchen. She was out there, talking with Kingsley and Harry. 'She's bloody gorgeous.' The furrow on her forehead, and the way she was playing with her hands betrayed her appearance. She might look reserved, but Ron knew she was agitated. Fiddling with her long sleeves betrayed why she was agitated.

He walked out from the kitchen, drawn to Hermione. She glanced over her shoulder to find him grinning just for her. A quick passionate kiss and he stepped into the conversation with Harry, Hermione and Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Ah. Ron. Glad you could join us. I was just telling Hermione that Lilies aren't my best flower. They clash with this rather dark skin. Next time use Mistletoe please."

They chuckled at the joke. Harry was standing there grinning like an ickle firstie and Hermione was blushing as well as a Weasley. Ron smiled in appreciation for the joke even if it was at his expense. At least they were laughing at the situation and not upset with him. Hermione had been right. He felt considerably better once the dragon inside his chest had been satiated.

In heels and Hermione didn't even reach his chin. 'When did that happen?' Hermione settled into his arms, relishing a hug that didn't have to be hidden. Merlin, she felt so good, fitting him like a pair of broken in trousers. She surreptitiously wiggled her hips onto him, giving him a spark. "So I was talking with these two on what's happened the last four days. Anything you want to ask at the moment?"

He let her go from his embrace, but kept his hands threaded with hers. They were so warm in his clammy ones. "What about the Lestranges? Did you find the brothers?"

"Rodolphus died in the fighting. We found him broken at the bottom of the ravine. Rabastan escaped. We'll find him." Ron nodded along with Harry. "Dolohov?"

"Escaped."

Ron frowned. The lines of his face grew in consternation. Kingsley continued as before. "I won't lie to you. We have plenty to do in the next week and next year. This won't be easy to fix, but we'll make it."

Ron caught a whiff of strawberries and broom polish before he saw the small yet strong calloused hands sneak around Harry for a hug. Harry jerked in surprise but then looked over his left shoulder to see those ginger locks shining up at him. Harry smiled further when she laid her head on his arm. "What about Umbridge?"

Harry flexed his hand unconsciously. They all had scars from that year. His just stood out the worst.

"I personally arrested her the evening of the battle." Four sets of eyes perked up at that idea. "I kept an eye on her the entire time. She'll not harm another muggle if I have any say in the matter."

Hermione squirmed under Ron's hand. "How do you plan on purging rotten ones in the Ministry? Not everyone can claim they were under the Imperius curse?"

Kingsley looked at her "For the rest, I plan on putting Percy to work on that problem. He's outstanding, and helped subvert the Ministry so much. He's going to help me rebuild it one person at a time."

Ginny and Ron both nodded. There was still much to work out with their prodigal brother. Fred might have forgiven him, but his betrayal of the family still hurt terribly.

"Malfoy," Hermione whispered. Four sets of eyes turned to the brunette trying to burrow into Ron's embrace. Only blue and green understood her concern. Divergent brown were confused.

Kingsley replied quietly. "All three willingly turned themselves in at the ministry yesterday, solicitor in tow. So far, Lucius has turned Minister's Evidence against most of the ones we have in custody. Slippery bastard is helping, even for his own selfish reasons."

"And the others?"

"Narcissa and Draco offered their wands in surrender. We confiscated his, but let her keep hers. No one should be completely defenseless right now, no matter how much I beg to differ. Right now, they are under house arrest until further notice."

Harry looked at his two best friends. He had to do what was right. "When you take their depositions, I will testify on Narcissa's behalf. I will also do so grudgingly for Draco. He's a coward but he also didn't betray us when he had the chance."

Ron stiffened and Hermione shuddered. The silence in the conversation was beginning to blanket them. "The Carrows. Did we hear correctly from Neville?" asked Ginny. "We don't have to worry about either one of those freaks again?"

The only indication the minister was surprised was a twitching of his eyebrow. "How did you know?"

"Minerva," replied four voices in unison.

He smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant one. "Alecto is dead, and Amycus will never leave St. Mungo's – unless it's for Azkaban. You can rest assured that their reign of terror is over."

Ginny got a hard look on her face. "When you have time, Minister, I want to tell you about the year at school. My parents' can't know about it."

Obsidian reflected firewhiskey. Silence smothered the group while the lines on Shacklebolt's face deepened. Hard eyes looked back at him. "When I'm ready to debrief all of the heroes, you come too. We need to know everything that happened."

"But my parents?"

"We'll make your deposition after you turn seventeen. If you tell before then, they are bound by law to be there to hear it."

Ginny nodded once in agreement. "Mine can wait then."

Kingsley nodded in affirmation. "I also want you four checked over by a healer."

"Not bloody likely," muttered Ron. Four sets of eyes stared at him. "What?"

Hermione huffed and Ginny growled. Only Harry chuckled. "Take it from Ron. Unless his arm is dangling by skin, he won't see a healer."

Hermione blanched. "Oh damn. Sorry Hermione. My mistake." Hermione repeatedly punched Harry in the arm. "Sorry! Ow Hermione! Stop it!"

Ginny grabbed Hermione's arm to keep her from beating up Harry.

Kingsley chuckled at their antics. "That's enough Hermione. He needs to live for now. I didn't say it was a suggestion. I'm telling you. All of you need to be checked out by a healer."

The four teens grumbled in pained agreement.

Ginny let Hermione go and saw Mum in the kitchen. 'Shite,' she thought. 'Where's Dad?'

She looked and he was nowhere to be seen. 'In the shed probably. Damn.' Harry'd have to wait.' She was needed elsewhere and she'd need Hermione too. Ginny pulled again to drag Hermione from the conversation. Four eyes looked at her, and were confused.

Hermione looked at Ginny, then back at Ron, wishing she wasn't being pried away from his warm embrace. "What?" she asked roughly.

Four additional heads turned back to the open door of the kitchen. Molly Weasley stood at the counter sobbing. Five faces took in the pain from her, internalizing it for their own. They all watched as she wrenched herself from the counter, and dashed into the scullery.

Ginny turned back to Harry, looking at him fiercely. 'I have to go,' her expression said.

A squeeze of his hand was the reply. 'I know.'

Ginny turned and glared at Ron. He nodded before she turned her back and purposefully walked away from them. Ron turned to look down into Hermione's warm chocolate eyes he loved, and saw that she understood too. A quick peck on her lips, returned with a strong squeeze of her hands in his, and she was following Ginny into the kitchen. Ron couldn't cope today. Thankfully his girlfriend could.

"What's that about?" Harry asked quietly. "She read your mind now?"

Ron could only smile sadly. He wasn't ready to share his secret yet, not even with Harry. It was his first grand accomplishment. "Close enough for what I need now."

"Think we should go too?"

Ron stood there a second, realizing that he wasn't needed in the scullery with his Mum. He trusted Hermione to stand in his stead. What she did for him earlier changed his whole outlook with her. She obviously loved him and trusted him at his worst. He could at least reciprocate. She earned that much from him.

"Nah mate. Trust Hermione to handle it. We'll wait."


	5. The rest are details I leave to you

Ch. 5 The rest are details left to you

(A/N: This ties into Chapter four of "A Mother's Rage" – you can read it to understand a little better, but not necessary for reading pleasure. – D.G.)  
**************************

Ron nuzzled her ear. "Stay with me," he grumbled.

She whispered back. "Of course. Harry? "

She felt his lips on her pulse point, quietly muttering into her neck, "Staying on the couch, so he said. Specky git said that he and Ginny needed to talk."

Hermione nodded. She missed his lean strong arms around her today. His touch was addictive.

"The sooner she gets this, the sooner I can stay."

A kiss, one of which he was hesitant to break, and he let her go, watching her walk out on her mission of mercy. Her hips twitched when she turned the corner, and so did Ron. He adjusted his trousers for comfort.

Ron leaned his hands on the counter, feeling the coolness under his hot hands. They were together maybe seconds, and in that time, he woke up completely. Standing outside holding her was exquisite torture. He wanted to snog her senseless in front of everyone else. Instead, he stood there talking like an adult with the Interim Minister. 'I've changed.'

He looked again at his hands. The scars from the brains were diminished. New lines on the back of them marked the fights with the snatchers, beating his fists against the walls in the basement of Malfoy Manor, putting his hand through a window at Shell cottage, or using every ounce of strength to choke the life out of Greyback. He remembered the blood and gore splattered on them moments later.

Bile caught in his throat. He turned, and spilled sick in the toilet. The memory of that monster's coarse hair under his throat turned his stomach. The taunts he turned into epithets about Hermione made him sick. 'Bastard was taunting me.' His cruelty knew the basest limits, if that.

'At least I don't have his death on my hands.' That honor went to Neville. A Reducto blast tore his head off and Fenir died instantly. 'Lucky bastard.' Ron shivered. 'If it had been anyone else, I'd probably been hurt in the blast.'

Lavender. Ron dry heaved while remembering his former girlfriend. She could have kept her head down and been fine. She could have kept quiet. She stayed, fighting back. She protected Ginny and other younger students. Lavender could have run and yet she stayed behind to fight. What did her bravery get her? 'Mauled by a sick bastard who tore half her throat out. Sick fuck destroyed something beautiful and precious. She was worth one hundred Greybacks.'

Another dry heave didn't even make an impression.

* * *

Between sleep and Molly Weasley, they had trouble getting away. It wasn't until the next afternoon when they went to the Hospital wing and Madame Pomfrey told them.

Hermione stood there frozen to the floor while Ron went to look at her in the next room where the fatalities were kept. "Mr. and Mrs. Brown will be back shortly to take her home," the mediwitch said. Ron could only nod. Poppy was polite to give him a moment.

He had to say goodbye, at least.

He lifted the sheet off of her face, seeing the thinness on it, and the shadows under her eyes. In repose, she was still pretty. Her gray jumper was coated in masonry dust, soot, and her own blood. The damage Greyback inflicted on her neck was terrible. 'First girl I kissed. You taught me so much. First girl I touched. First girl I hurt.'

He wanted to rage at the world that took such a silly girl from it, yet he was too numb from overload to do anything else for the blonde bombshell. 'You had no choice, didn't you? Silly bint on the outside, Gryffindor core underneath. You could have run, but you stayed and fought. It got you a memorial.'

He felt her eyes on his back. The distance was short but the anguish was a shout. He could hear her trying to fight back her own grief. Bitter tears threatened to overwhelm him and the lump in his throat clogged his voice. "I fancied you, but I didn't love you. I was a prat for how I treated you," his voice carrying across the miniscule room. "I'm sorry we didn't do more. I'm sorry we couldn't save you. I won't forget you."

He turned back around and saw Hermione standing there. She was shaking like the Whomping Willow. Powerful strides took him to her. Silent tears coursed down her face through the dust and scars on it. 'I tried,' was all she could get out before she collapsed on him.

* * *

Someone was standing in the doorway looking. He knew they had been there but were respectful in their silent vigil. He choked back the new bile in his throat, trying to scrub the memory of that morning from his mind. A painful wipe across his face before he could face who was there watching him be weak. He turned, and looked on warm brown eyes. Roasted chestnuts under strawberry blonde lashes weren't what he hoped for. "Do you need to use the loo?"

"No. I saw you standing there crying and wondered what was going on."

"Just thinking about Lavender."

"What about her?"

"No one told you?"

Ginny scowled. "Told me what?"

"She's dead."

Ron felt like he slapped his sister. He watched Ginny slide down the door frame. "Her too?" she growled from where she collapsed on the floor.

"Yea, her too. Greyback."

"How bad?"

He stood there watching his sister. Grief flittered across her face. "You really wanna know?" If she wanted to know, he would tell her. Not much else could add to their burdens of grief.

"Hell no. My nightmares are bad enough right now."

"Then I won't."

She didn't look at him but knew the question was coming. "What about Greyback? What happened to that monster?"

Ron looked down at his hands again. He still saw the gore on them. No matter how much he scrubbed his hands that morning, the memory was painfully etched on his mind. "He's dead too."

"Did you – "

"No. Neville did. Bastard had me on my back and was trying to rip my throat out. I had my hands around his throat trying to choke him to death. Neville killed him."

Ron glanced up and saw Hermione. 'Shite.'

She turned ghost white before turning and running up the hallway to the stairs.

He raced after her. "Hermione!" he bellowed racing up the stairs.

Not a second before, she slammed the door. He threw his weight against it before she could seal it. "Don't run away from me, damn it!" He stopped cold in his tracks. She was hiding in the dusty corner of his room, cowering unto herself. His teeth hurt from seeing her shake terribly in her oversized robes.

Four steps and he bundled her into his arms, holding her while she cried yet again. She felt tiny in his arms, miniscule inside his warm embrace. He couldn't make out most of what she said, except something that tore his heart. "I didn't know."

He barely heard her whisper into his dress shirt. "How could you? You were arse over elbows fighting Bellatrix."

"I should have – "

"Bollocks. That bitch would've killed you and many more if you didn't step up and take her on. You had to fight."

"But you could –"

"You're right. I could have. So should have you. But we didn't, did we?"

He looked down at the frazzled bushy hair right under his chin. He knew she was still weeping.

"Look at me," he said quietly. She didn't hear him over her weeping.

He shifted her in his lap and brought her emotionally gorgeous face up to his. He caressed salty soft lips. Her flushed cheeks and pale face woke him immediately. "Open your eyes," he grumbled.

Hermione slowly complied. They were bloodshot. "We should be dead. I can't explain why we're alive. Whether it's Fate, Divine, or the alignment of the Stars, I dunno. But we're not and I'm not complaining. We're here, and I love you. The rest are details left to you."

Ron pulled her closer, feeling the warmth of her arms around his neck along with the softness of her chest. He watched her continue to weep.

His body betrayed him. He was a bloke after all. 'No' he commanded. He would wait as long as she needed. After everything she did for him today, he'd be a right git for being selfish.

His thoughts drifted like the hands on her back. They traced the ridges of her spine, touching the ribs one by one that stuck out. Her hip bones poked his palms, emaciated from their time on the run. He knew she didn't eat, insisting that the boys be strong. He didn't realize the magnitude of her long suffering sacrifice until they landed at Shell cottage. Seeing her undressed out of necessity made it painfully obvious. Five weeks removed from that night and she still felt fragile in his arms.

Hot lips were on his neck. Fingernails gently scratched up his head. Arms tightened around his chest. He noticed her ministrations immediately.

"Ron, please!" she whispered into his robes.

"Please what?"

She looked up at him through tear glistened lashes. For the first time in his adult life, she rolled her eyes at him for the right reason. "Ronald!"

"Barmy woman. I couldn't hear you."

She pulled his face to hers and scorched him with a blistering kiss. "I don't want us to be interrupted."

By the size of his lopsided grin, He looked like Christmas feast was cooked just for him.

* * *

A snore in Hermione's ear woke her from her slumber. Hermione tried to roll over and couldn't; She was pinned to her lover's chest as he slept. Moonlight drifted through the curtains shading his room.

She blushed while thinking of what happened in the last day. She was wrong about her best friend. Her prior assessment of Ron was now woefully inadequate. His emotional depth was more than a teaspoon; it might be a whiskey glass now. The shot glass shattered trying to contain the emotional overflow. 'No matter really.'

Yesterday started as Ron's worst day of his life. In the seven years that she knew Ronald Weasley, she never once witnessed his magic become unhinged and unrestrained. The power behind it was immense, flowing off of him like a tsunami wave. Breaking Riddle's spell nonverbally proved that. Watching the flowers around the Minister testified to how close to breaking he was. There was no choice but to follow him from the service yesterday.

Chasing him to his room would be one choice she would never regret. If he was going to be a phoenix, she wanted to burn with him. Propriety be damned; he needed her. That was the last logical decision: actions and consequences. The rest was intuition and recklessness.

The hair on his head was as soft as she could remember, along with the hair on his chest and bum. His hands, calloused from yard work and Quidditch, played her skin like the ivory keys she loved to tickle. The nicest surprise were his lips and how immensely talented they were. She knew how soft, how engaging, and how voracious they were. Now she knew the intimacy behind them.

The best surprise was feeling his power, and feeling powerful. It had been a matter of time before he grew into his form, from his lanky features to the magic contained within. The tempering this spring did wonders, if for the wrong reasons. 'He really is larger than life.'

He changed that night. They all did. She could see it in his haunted eyes when she finally awoke from the nightmares at Shell cottage. The cerulean blue eyes, surrounded by bruises were the most beautiful sight she ever witnessed. That first instant was all she needed. The painfully crushing hug was worth that first moment. Fleur didn't mind mending her broken ribs from that hug while Bill scolded his brother for such carelessness.

She didn't choose to love him, nor fall in love with him. It happened, like a diamond being formed: Time, heat, pressure. She did choose to take that first step up the stairs. 'Only Halloween was better,' she smiled. 'That was the day that Ron became my knight.'

His lovemaking was like his fighting: aggressive, passionate, powerful, intimate. Sometimes, his power was unrestrained. He was unleashed yesterday, embracing the magic he couldn't control. He surrendered to it, guiding the direction it went. Watching it was magnificent. Feeling it - feeling him - was unlike anything else she ever experienced. She already craved more.

Hermione had been correct in her earlier assessment. He paid her back many a time over, delighting in taking the opportunity to discover more about his best friend, his girlfriend, his lover. The tears she shed at that point were of joy. He was patient the third time around, finally starting to learn her. She reciprocated further. Only exhaustion forced them to quit for the evening.

A creak on the landing jolted her from her reverie. Her ears were the one thing that weren't hurt at some point. "Come on, get a wiggle on!" she castigated herself. It wouldn't do either one of them any good if Molly caught her in Ron's bed at this hour of the night, or in the condition they were in.

She lifted his wiry arm off of her so she could get dressed before slipping out of his room. The first step made her wince. The bruise on her neck was the least of her ache and soreness. The various pains on her body competed for her attention. Each one, save the one on her neck and her arm, were welcome reminders of yesterday.

A mild pain potion tonight with her tea might be just the remedy.

"Accio," she whispered to her various articles of clothing. She hadn't been modest in where she threw her clothes, nor deliberate in keeping them neat. A quick flick of her wand and her clothes looked fresh, if slightly rumpled. If anyone asked, she could say that she fell asleep. Her face certainly looked slept on, if not for the most honest of reasons. A glance in the mirror in the filtered moonlight did nothing to quell the kneazle nest known as her hair. At least it was shorter now, and less prone to disaster. That first impulse was starting to seem like a good idea. There was still enough of it for Ron to tangle his fingers in it. She blushed again remembering how he threaded his hands into her bushy curls.

She padded over to the bed and kissed Ron on the temple. After their lovemaking this evening and into the night, she knew he would sleep most of it. 'At least I know he will. I hope I can.'

A flick of her wand and the door was ready to be opened. Molly wasn't an issue. Neither was Arthur. She had about two hours before the potion wore off on them. She didn't look forward to recriminations or questions, at least not yet. It was the rest of the family that might pose a problem. 'Just open the door. You can handle the rest,' she berated herself. Her courage was drained after the last day.

She cracked the door open and took her first breath in a minute. The landing was thankfully empty. She quietly closed the door behind her, leaving it cracked for appearance sake. Harry would know if he paid attention. Ginny might too. 'In for a Knut, In for a Galleon,' she thought. 'I hope the rest of the house is asleep.'

She tip toed down the stairs, dodging the creaky stairs, avoiding the doors to the other bedrooms. A glance down the hallway said that someone was awake in George's room, and so was someone else in Percy's room. One more landing and she could escape to the loo for a relaxing hot bath.

A creak on a board behind her told her that she was caught. 'Uh Oh.'

She slowly turned around and saw Fleur. Bill's newlywed wife was standing in the hallway in her housecoat and her hair was disheveled. Her flushed cheeks and chest betrayed her activities before she came into the hallway. Awake at one in the morning and she was stunning. A pang of envy coursed through her: Fleur's composure at being caught was something she hoped to grow into.

"Ma petit Soeur. Q'est que c'est?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd grab a hot bath and try to relax. I don't want to wake everyone up tonight like last night."

Fleur looked at her and softly smiled. "How is Ronald? Is he better? I saw so little of 'im today."

"He fell asleep earlier this evening, and I did too. I didn't mean to, but he's had such a terrible day. I couldn't leave him alone."

Fleur reached her hand over and touched the bruise on Hermione's neck. It had since grown in the last twelve hours. At least the other marks on her body were hidden. She hadn't complained at the time, but now in front of such a beautiful woman, he felt less than stunning.

"Qu'elle est?"

"It was an accident. Ron was trying to destroy his room, and I got in the way of him throwing a chair."

Hermione looked up, and Fleur chuckled. "Ce n'est pas."

Hermione blushed. "You're right. I don't want anyone to bother Ron right now. He's had too much to cope with."

"C'est vrai." Fleur smiled. "Come. I'll make tea et nous parlerons. There are some things we need to talk about. Some things a man can't understand, n'est pas?"

Hermione smiled further. "C'est vrai."

Fleur took the younger woman under her arm, and they descended the stairs for the kitchen.

They stopped in the kitchen and saw two tea cups on the table. Hermione gripped her wand, intending to check. 'Probably Ginny and Harry,' she thought. "Une minute, s'il t'plait."

"Oui." Fleur went into the kitchen to start a kettle of water. Hermione was uncomfortable until she knew for certain. She looked in the parlor and saw no one. A non-verbal revealing spell showed no one hidden either. She left and went into the den. Flickering light from the fireplace illuminated the room. She guessed they were here before she saw them on the couch. Two figures were nestled into it, fast asleep.

She padded over even though she knew who it was there. Ginger hair was splayed on the threadbare cushion of the couch, protected by the lanky arms of her brother. One glance told her everything she needed to know – that nothing happened. The only things not on were their trainers. The afghan that was normally on the back of the couch was on the floor, discarded at some point.

She lifted it, intending to cover them up again when she noticed green eyes looking at her. He hadn't taken his glasses off before falling asleep. He never made a sound.

Hermione laid the blanket over them again, and moved to the armrest of the couch so her brother could hear her. "It's one am. You stay and let her sleep. I'll keep watch."

Harry nodded then closed his eyes again. Not a minute and he was fast asleep.

Hermione smiled and turned back to the kitchen.

_Fin_

(Footnote: Any badly written French is entirely my fault. It's been years since I took it, and my dictionaries are not that useful for informal dialogue. –D.G.)


End file.
